


High Hopes

by rainonpavement



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Episode: s01e02 Errors And Omissions, M/M, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:41:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28364832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainonpavement/pseuds/rainonpavement
Summary: Mike goes to land Tom as his client, but ends up doing a bit more than that.
Relationships: Tom Keller/Mike Ross
Kudos: 9





	High Hopes

**Author's Note:**

> Hey I just started watching this show and only just finished episode two, so forgive me if I'm completely off track here. I just. Thought this would be hot.  
> Ok also sorry for the insane amount of commas. They're my favourite punctuation. Also there might be a mix of UK and US English in there. That's on me. Sorry.  
> Thanks

Mike knew he was screwed the moment Louis' face went from smug to absolutely pompous. Like how he should have looked after fully and thoroughly kicking Mike's ass in tennis just a moment earlier. Louis slipped out the drug test and Mike's stomach dropped. It took a couple of more moments before he realised he was being blackmailed. He was new to this world of lies and favours, and it dawned on him way too late that this was Louis' play- he was being backed into a corner. By the time he had registered how fucked he was, there was nowhere to run. 

In hindsight, had he straight up denied the drug test's validity, or boldly accused Louis' of tampering with it, he might have made it out OK. Surely Louis wouldn't have wanted him to cause a scene in front of the men at the club, let alone a scene about fraudulent documents and blackmail. But Mike knew that he would somehow get thrown under the bus for that as well, one way or the other. He was smart, but the people around him had played this game much longer than him, and he kept forgetting it.

Mike wondered if the pathetic attempts to get Tom's attention was also part of the act, if Louis overplayed how much he needed Mike in this situation. Not that it mattered now, but Mike couldn't honestly imagine Louis would ever behave so... submissively.

So he had no way out. The drug test would get him fired, and even if Harvey magically could sort that out for him, he wouldn't, because it was a breach of their only deal. Mike almost scoffed considering how he saw his future dangle on a thread, and the only solution was to get high with someone whom he admired. It was the most contradictory feeling he'd ever fucking felt.

So, he did what he had to do. And it wasn't difficult, he knew Louis was right: he and Tom were the same age, they both liked fantasy football, and they both smoked weed. Mike could've reeled that fish in with only one of those, the fact that Tom's app was one he spent way too much time on anyway was just a perverse cherry on top.

Mike would've lied if he said he didn't look forward to it: Harvey had pushed him harder than he'd ever let himself be pushed, and going cold turkey straight into this job had been tougher than he'd expected. With the patent claim being sorted by Gregory, and the fact that he had been ordered by a superior to do this, he could almost let himself relax by the time he and Tom were on their way to one of the private dining rooms at the club. 

First he thought Tom would ask him where to go, and he panicked, imagining having to take him to his apartment which was still a criminal mess after Trevor broke in to find the suitcase. But as he turned to leave the club, Tom grinned, shook his head, and tugged him along down a hallway by the sleeve of his suit jacket. The direction further into the club confused him: he didn't know much about these kinds of places, but he was pretty sure you weren't allowed to blaze it up just about anywhere. He didn't have much time to consider the luxurious rooms they passed by, too caught up on how Tom still hadn't let go of his sleeve, leaving him unsure how they ended up in a preposterously large room, with an elaborate fireplace, dining table, and windows displaying the lush gardens of the club. 

"I come here all the time, I don't know if they mind, but it's not like they can throw me out," Tom grinned, and disappeared around a corner. Mike forced a chuckle, and started shrugging out of his jacket. It felt too posh next to Tom in his khakis and loose button-up. When Tom re-emerged, he was twirling a lighter between his fingers, and made a beeline for the fireplace. 

Mike followed leisurely, casting a glance out the windows. He didn't realise he was nervous until he caught himself fidgeting with the buttons of the jacket in his hand. Tom was fiddling with the fireplace, and Mike shook his head to force himself back together. There was no reason to worry- he knew he could close this deal, and the reward of Louis' trust would surely be worth it. Mike could be his- what did he call it? Right, pony. Yikes.

Turns out, the fireplace was merely a courtesy. When Tom had taken the first rip and leaned back on his elbows, he tilted his head back and made sure to aim his exhale up the chimney. Mike couldn't help the chuckle he let out, and Tom looked back at him with the most radiant grin, and what would've been a shrug, had he not been so stretched out. 

"Hey, I know they can't throw me out, but no need to tempt fate, huh?" Mike nodded in agreement and took a deep breath himself. It filled his lungs so much warmer than he recalled, and for an overwhelming moment he seriously questioned why he had let this up. Tom elbowed him in the ribs and Mike let himself settle down next to him, copying his posture and blew his breath out up amongst the bricks.

"You're quiet for a lawyer," Tom pointed out, smoothly stealing the blunt from between Mike's fingers. His stomach fluttered at the contact, and Mike suddenly realised that it wasn't pulling in the client that had thrown him off into a nervous state at all. He'd been blinded by the absolute sucker-punch that was his superior forcing him to smoke weed. 

It was Tom. It was the grin he'd let slip when Mike had mentioned getting high. It was the eye contact he'd maintained while buttoning up his shirt. It was the snicker when Mike had turned around, suddenly, as if that was the custom in a men's locker room. 

While Tom leaned back again, letting a steady flow make its way upwards, Mike gave himself a mental beating for being so thick. For a moment, he worriedly considered the possibility that Louis knew, that he had seen Tom enough, that he'd pegged him and then done the same to Mike. Did he want Mike to-?

"Hey, spaceman, you still with me?" Tom's fingers were softly touching his jaw, turning it to face him. Mike felt way too high way too soon, and way too late for all of it. He felt like he got stuck in the locker room, and everyone else kept moving. 

"Y-yeah," he stuttered, and wanted to flinch at the hesitance in his voice. He was an associate, for God's sake, was it that hard to fake some dignity? Tom smiled at his response. 

"Good," he muttered, and Mike was sure he was going to kiss him then, with the fingers still on his jawline, but Tom let him go, eyes as bright as his smile. Mike felt like he couldn't keep up. Was it because he hadn't smoked in a while? He couldn't remember it ever feeling like this, not since he had his first joint, back home, as a teenager. 

"So, are you going to pitch me anything, or what?" Tom asked, handing the blunt back to Mike, setting it down carefully between his fingers.

"Um- I mean, no, I was- _he_ wanted," he tried, and Tom let out a laugh, and Mike couldn't look away from his neck, the skin moving there. He tried again.

"I'm just curious how long you're going to surround yourself with people that like you." That made Tom look at him.

"That "like me"?"

"Yeah, they're all your buddies, right? They all like you. They're emotionally invested. Not great if you're a lawyer."

"And you're not?" Tom pushed. "Emotionally invested?" It was Mike's turn to laugh, and he finally felt a bit like himself again, lighter, easier. He was settling in.

"A lawyer."

"What?"

"I'm not a lawyer, just an associate."

"But what if I want you?" 

Mike hurriedly ignored the innuendo.

"I could help out, of course, but I wouldn't be your main man." At least, he hoped that was right- he didn't actually know how much he could contribute to a new client, let alone be _allowed_ to contribute. The line about the grown-up table was still fresh and painful in his memory.

"That'd be good enough, I guess," Tom pondered, and Mike dared a look through his eyelashes, realising he'd closed his eyes. 

Tom was still smiling, maybe pleased they'd gotten all that out of the way. 

"How did you know he wanted to, I mean, that he wanted me to-" Mike started.

"Oh come on, I'm not a business guy, but I know a shark when I see one. I know when I'm wanted." At the last word, he turned to Mike, suddenly much more serious than before, and Mike had a moment to wonder how long Louis had been hounding him. Tom leaned over and grabbed the blunt again, but carefully put it away in the hearth, leaning on his side to face Mike. 

"Right," Mike swallowed, nervous again. He hadn't been this jittery since Jenny corrected his tie that one fateful morning, the wrong and right of it all buzzing in his veins. 

It was different now though, because he was high, and the right and wrongs were a bit more blurred, and he hadn't had time to jerk off for a couple of days at least, and Tom was looking at him with such intensity he thought he'd melt right there. 

"Right," Tom agreed, and he had this smugness shining through now, perhaps a bit of surprise as well upon that face. Mike didn't blame him. In the locker room he'd been much more confident, pushed hard by Louis in a direction. He'd known where to run. It had all gone a bit sideways since then, literally, because Mike struggled with up and down for a moment when Tom playfully poked him in the shoulder. His balance was a joke.

"I haven't, I haven't had time to smoke much lately," he excused himself, because truly, what kind of lightweight goes limb and mute like this after a shared joint? Tom smiled.

"They pushing you hard at the firm?" Mike scoffed at the question.

"You couldn't imagine." 

"How hard?" Tom asked then, and Mike didn't have time to roll his eyes at that innuendo, before Tom's hand sneaked down over his crotch, lightly resting there.

Mike's body reacted on its own accord, the whole, "haven't had a moment to breathe let alone jerk off lately" situation. Tom tutted approvingly.

"Very hard, it seems." Mike closed his eyes, chuckling. His body was so eager, he felt like it would outrun him and leave his mind miles behind. He buckled slightly, trying to get Tom to put some heat into it, some actual force. Luckily he obliged, scooting closer, one hand supporting his head, the other massaging Mike. Rough, slow strokes, and somehow the value of the suit he was wearing was the thing that sparked a glimpse of clarity for Mike.

"My s-suit, I-" he fumbled, but Tom was way ahead of him, grabbing his belt and unzipping his trousers. When he reached into his underwear and grabbed his cock, Mike couldn't help the groan escaping out of his mouth. He kept his eyes shut, too aroused, too affected by the whole situation to face Tom's expression right now. His hips kept moving despite his best efforts to slow down, his feet trying to find purchase on the soft carpet below them.

"What if Louis walked in right now, huh," Tom asked then, but without a question mark, with a dry huff of breath on Mike's neck, and a torturous twist of his hand on an upstroke.

Mike screwed his eyes further shut, and gave a small shake of his head at the idea, and he could feel Tom grinning against his skin before opening his mouth and teasingly bite down on his neck.

"Not above the collar-" Mike rushed out, but Tom's lips were already gone, and his hand slipped out of his trousers. Opening his eyes, Mike saw how he hurriedly was unbuckling his own belt, shoving the khakis down, revealing a pair of underwear telling Mike he wasn't the only one to be excited by the current turn of events.

Tom struggled with the belt, trying to get it out of the hoops properly, before giving up and placing himself firmly on top of Mike.

"Shit, man," he breathed, and Mike gripped his shoulders, trying to maneuver him into that perfect-

"Fuck-" Tom was moving so much faster, slipping one leg between Mike's, not waiting before starting the slowest, dirtiest grind Mike could imagine. Or maybe it was the fact that he was supposed to land this guy as a client, when he actually should be filing patent shit, y'know, doing his job, but instead he was high as a kite, harder than he'd been in forever, and about to shoot his load in his pants at a country club with Tom bloody Keller on top of him.

"Shit," Tom breathed again, putting his hands on Mike's neck, scraping his nails up his scalp, and biting his jaw. "Shit, get your dick out, c'mon," he urged, and Mike, barely sober enough to form his own comprehensive thoughts, let go of his shirt and reached for his pants.

"You gotta, stop moving, man," Mike tried, but Tom seemed too busy trying to make a Mike-shaped imprint in the carpet, and a Texas-sized hickey on his neck to hear him. "I can't-" he continued, but Tom grazed his teeth next to the sensitive skin, and fuck, Mike wasn't strong enough for this shit, especially not when riled up and stoned, and his nerves were fluttering all over, it was so fucking good.

He settled for Tom's ass instead, just held on tight and pushed down harder. 

They were still going slow, but Mike's body wasn't complaining: his palms felt electric, his whole body thrumming with it, and Tom was panting in his ear, one hand pushing his chin up, putting Mike up on display.

So close it felt like he was inside Mike's head, came a rushed whisper, and Tom had to tighten his grip on his jaw to keep him from bucking.

"Can I fuck you, Mike?"

Mike couldn't stop squirming, his dick trapped beneath layers of fabric and warmed by Tom's moving body, precome spreading on his skin, leaving a sticky sensation on every downstroke. 

"Tom, you gotta- my _fucking suit_ -" and thankfully Tom caught on, and pushed himself up on his elbows, leaving Mike's body blatantly empty.

" _Fuck_ ," Mike breathed, locking his hand around the base of his dick, trying to prevent the absolute mess of himself. Tom was giving huffing breaths above him, airy chuckles coming down, and clear eyes grinning through his messed-up hair. 

"You good?" Tom smiled, and Mike looked up with as much annoyance he could muster. He could feel the flush on his skin, the heat radiating his cheeks, his chest. 

"Shut up," he snapped, and Tom's grin widened.

"Not much time for several hobbies lately, I gather?" Mike felt his ears go red at the implication. 

"Some of us have actual work," he started, staring up at the multimillionaire with some sort of dignity. "Don't have time to just-" Tom's hand was on his wrist now, the one choking his dick, and Tom's eyebrows did this "carry on" gesture, while his fingers peeled Mike away. Mike choked when they slipped inside his underwear again, letting his head fall back on the carpet.

"To do what? Tell me what you think rich kids like me do all day?" Tom was clearly enjoying the teasing, and Mike didn't mind, he just wished he had more clarity, less urgency, so he could at least give as good as he got.

"Play tennis," he blurted, and it wasn't smart or clever, but _fuck_ , Tom was pulling down his pants, his underwear too, and he felt so much dirtier when his ass touched the soft carpet.

"Hmm," Tom hummed, as if he was considering whether to let that slide. 

With Mike's dick out, Tom again slowed down, and Mike couldn't ever remember being this submissive in an encounter, confused at his own behavior. 

"You do have a very nice suit," Tom then stated, and Mike opened his eyes, looking down at his ruffled shirt, soon-to-be-wrinkled trousers, and his dick dripping on his stomach.

"I need to get back to work after this- I can't-" he rushed, the arousal continuing like a live-wire through him with how Tom was eyeing him. Tom tsked.

"I'll make sure not to make a mess then," he promised then, slipping his lips over Mike's for a second, who despite himself jerked back, because, woah, that's not something that- but then he slid down, and Mike couldn't have given less of a shit, because, 

" _Tom!_ " He couldn't control himself, he didn't use to be like this, but his hands went into Tom's hair, and Tom smiled around his dick, tongue circling the head, wet and sloppy. The mess of it was slipping down his dick, and he prayed it didn't stain his trousers, or worse yet, the carpet, fuck, what do you say to the club?

Tom's hand came up to stroke him, mouth still leisurely on the tip, and Mike tried to push him down further, but at a chuckle from Tom, he let up and simply clung on to his hair, trying to not lose his goddamn mind. 

"You ready?" Tom laughed, and Mike rolled his eyes under his closed lids, because the kid had no right being so fucking smug, he wasn't God's gift to mankind just cause he could suck a-

Before Mike could reply, there was more wet, more heat. Tom's hand slipped down off the shaft, and took him deep, Mike feeling the constriction of his throat, and it was too fucking much, too fucking good, and he thought shit, if Harvey saw him now-

And he didn't know why he thought of Harvey, couldn't imagine whether Harvey would continue despite the risk of ruining a suit, he was so fucking fond of suits, and Tom swallowed around him and he couldn't do anything about it, felt his stomach clench, a leg clung over Tom's, his hands strained in blonde hair. 

And Tom was incredible, a champion, the fucking fantasy football star of blowjobs, because when Mike looked up, he was carefully swallowing around him: lips red and swollen, hands tightly holding onto Mike's thighs, making Mike's spine do that uncomfortable shiver, the too-much-too-good feeling. Tom's mouth felt too hot for his dick now, but Tom was adamant, and gave him way too much eye contact for a stranger gulping down cum on their knees in a country club.

"Tom-" he started, voice strained and high, and Tom slipped off, a wet sound that slapped Mike in the face with heat and shame. The moment the mouth was gone, a hand replaced it, worrying his cock, just slightly, up and down, fingers moving in the wetness there.

"Fuck," Mike breathed out, letting his head his the floor with a _thump_. How the fuck was he supposed to go back to work after this. How the fuck was he supposed to _walk_ after this? Harvey could read people better than anyone he'd ever met, and Donna, she was so scary, she would _know_.

"So," Tom smiled down at him, hand still moving, making Mike squirm despite how his muscles had resigned a moment ago. "Can I?" Mike felt his forehead frown, trying to understand the question, with the hand still on his dick like that, still out of breath. 

"I wanna fuck you, Mike," he insisted, leaning over him, a hand moving a stray of hair off his temple. "I really wanna get my dick in you," he continued, again with that low voice, so quiet, but encompassing all of Mike, the thrum of his voice vibrating through the air, and fuck, maybe this wasn't a good idea because Mike could _feel_ his voice, he could feel the sounds of the room, his skin reacting to his huffing breaths, the shake of Tom's arms straining to keep himself up.

"You're so relaxed, I bet I could slip right in," and Mike's spine tickled at that, let himself imagine letting this man, this stranger, truly, roll him over and- "shit, I'd do anything, Mike, I'll suck you off again, after, I'll do your fucking laundry, and you'd thank me, you'd thank _yourself_ , hah, just let me," and Mike doesn't know if Tom trailed off or if he just stopped listening, but the hand leaves his dick, creates a sticky path down between his legs, and he wants to, he wants to feel good like Tom says, he wants to not be worried about it, he wants to be one of those guys that can just fuck and then fuck off, no big deal. Tom takes the slight spreading of legs as a go-ahead, because despite the fingers being gentle, they start prodding around his hole, and Mike is hyping himself up, encouraging himself to relax, to enjoy it, to shut the fuck up. No, Mike definitely just stopped listening, because Tom is still talking, sounding more riled up than ever, the other hand stroking Mike's stomach, pushing his shirt up to reach a nipple. 

"I could have anyone, Mike," he continues, "I want you." Tom's heaving breaths emphasise the truth of the statement, and a slim finger punctuates it, slipping in, easy as that. Mike tenses at the sensation- it's not bad, he just- it's just weird. He doesn't know Tom or how his previous statement could be a compliment. But he manages to relax, just, let go, and Tom pushes further when he feels it.

"There you go, man, like that," and Mike feels like a virgin, feels like Tom assumes this is his first time, like he's a rookie and maybe that's what he's getting off on, the power dynamic, the fact that Tom could buy Mike's entire life like _that_ , that he could pay to have anyone. 

"I don't think," Mike begins to think out loud, but stops there. Tom shushes him, and pushes closer. Again his lips near Mike's, and this time Mike's reaction is too obvious to ignore.

"Let me guess," Tom grins, "you're not gay?" Mike shakes his head, no, that's not it, it's just that kissing is _different_ , but Tom continues anyway. "That's fine, I don't care," and there's another finger prodding at his ass now, pushing and it's too dry, "fuck, all I care about is your ass, man, can't wait to get my dick in there, I swear you're gonna love it, you're gonna beg me for more, maybe we can make this a weekly thing…" Tom must feel the resistance as well, because he removes his fingers, gets his hand up to Mike's face and sucks them into his mouth. Mike can't deny the arousal in him at that, can't ignore how the look of Tom's fingers make him want to put his dick in between those lips again, truly feel it this time, not be so overwhelmed, and maybe Tom can tell in his eyes that that's what he's thinking, because he laughs when the fingers disappear down below the belt again. 

Two digits slip in without issue now, and Mike shimmies further down the rug, tries to spread his legs caught in his trousers, wants to make it easier. Tom uses his free hand to push the pants down further, and the intensity in his eyes make Mike swoon for a moment, vertigo but upside down, like he's about to be sucked into the sky, and he remembers that Tom hasn't come yet, has his dick still stuck in his underwear. At a quick glance Mike notices a significant wet spot, can feel how Tom is getting more desperate the deeper he gets. 

Mike thinks he's dreaming, about to wake up, when he hears the phone ring. Sure, he hasn't remembered his dreams since middle school, but there's no way this is real.

"Are you gonna get that?" Tom asks him, and Mike blinks up at the man. 

"Uh-" Mike manages. The fingers in him are twisting and doing that thing that feels good but he feels exposed, too seen under Mike's insisting gaze.

"It's your phone," Tom continues, and what's Mike to do? Not answer? It could be his grandmother, it could be Harvey for Christ's sake. He nods shakily, swallows a thick breath and fumbles for his pocket. He manages to spot HARVEY on the display as Tom pushes in a third finger, and he knows he's fucked. Figuratively. Or literally. Either.

"Yu-up," he greets his very perceptive boss, and Tom is loving this, has a smile bigger than Jupiter on his face as he pushes his dick against Mike's abdomen in heaving movements.

"Where are you? And where is the approved paperwork?"

"I'm at," a quick breath, "Louis took me to the," he makes eye contact with Tom, who looks absolutely wrecked at this point, hair dishevelled, pupils blown wide, "the club."

"I tell you to do work and you slip off to play some quick tennis?" Mike would be terrified of the tone in his voice if he hadn't sounded so baffled.

"He told me," his throat clicks as he swallows, and Tom huffs out a breath, a chuckle, way too close to the phone in Mike's hand.

"Forget it. Is he there? Put him on the phone, right now." Mike panics, and Tom enjoys that very much, must feel how he clenches up, because he screws his fingers in tighter, twists them deviously. Mike can't help the groan, the guttural sound that is finger-fucked out of him, and he knows it's over, Harvey will not only fire him on the spot, he'll sue him for sexual harassment. 

"Jesus, how hard is he drilling you? He's the best player in the firm, just, get back here asap, we'll talk more about this later." Mike lets out a sarcastic laugh at the wording, and Tom takes the phone from him, carefully hanging up the call.

"Turn over," Tom huffs, and if he has maintained his composure previously, it's all slipping away now. His hands are shaking as he moves Mike's hips, jerking little motions. Mike obliges, feels a strange heat build in his stomach after the phone call, Harvey's voice an ember, reverberating through his skull.

"Shit I don't, do you have," Tom breathes in his neck as he carefully pulls his fingers out, moving his hands along Mike's hips. 

"You're not going in raw, man," Mike objects, punctuated by an incredulous laugh. Who does this kid think he is?

"I don't have anything," Tom excuses, and Mike rolls his eyes. He'd just let go enough to go along with it, now his skin is tightening again. A shiver moves up his spine as he steadies himself, hands, knees, shoes scraping the floor. 

"You're not fucking me then," Mike insists, and Tom drops his head between his shoulder blades. 

"I'll be quick," he promises, and Mike laughs under him. 

"Right, so the STDs can't keep up, of course." Tom chuckles then, his laugh moving through Mike's rib cage. 

"Fuck," Tom sighs.

"The opposite, really."

"Shut up." It's more playful now, the thick arousal split by the reality of the situation. Mike feels sticky in all the wrong places, perfectly slutty with his ass in the air and a millionaire's dick between his thighs. 

"Just," Mike says eventually, but he has no end of the sentence. Part of him wants to be fucked, just to get it over with, to prove to himself that he can, another part is clear enough to-

"I'm pretty sure I'm clean, man," Tom starts again. "I haven't, I mean, it's, I've been careful." It's laughable, it's more likely to be a lie than anything, it means nothing, Mike knows. 

Mike get's out, "We really shouldn't-" as Tom breathes, "Let's just do it-" and fuck, he's prepped already, it would be so easy. 

Tom slips his fingers back in, and Mike moans despite himself. He's getting hard again, surprised with himself with how his arms are shaking, how the arousal is still there for him, despite the phone call and the weed. Maybe because of it. 

"Shitshit _shit_ ," he whispers, and Tom works his fingers faster now, truly speeding up for the first time. He goes deep and then twists, making Mike think of those combination locks. A bit to the left, a couple of degrees to the right. He's about to lose his fucking mind. 

"Whenever you're ready," Tom breathes, and Mike knows that it's a losing game. He won't admit it to himself, but there's this knowledge that this is happening now, huh. He's truly about to let this happen. He redistributes his weight on one elbow, moving his hand down to his own dick, but Tom stops him. The hand closing around his wrist is strong and firm, and Mike arches his back, trying to find some sort of purchase. 

"C'mon man," he urges, lets himself fall down onto his elbow and tries to pull his hand towards his dick. 

"Yeah?" Tom asks, and Mike's gotta give it to him. The guy might not take "no" for an answer, but he's not shooting off before a "yes".

"Yeah, fuck it, fuck, just let me." Mike finally gives in, and Tom lets out a chuckling breath, releases his hand. Mike gets it under him fast, wraps his hand around his dick and pulls, feeling like he can't breathe, like he's drowning but up on dry land, and he barely stutters as he feels Tom spit down on his hole. 

There's a gentle finger rubbing it in, then he's shoved down by a hand flat between his shoulders, stubble rubbing up against the rug. 

"Fuck, man, fuck, your ass, it'll be the death of me," and with that, one steady hand on his hip, he guides his dick into his ass. 

Mike jerks himself hard as he's sliding in, tries to focus on how good his dick feels, rather than how tight his ass is. He's sure he's making noises, but his ears won't let him hear anything but his own beating blood, thick and fast beats. Tom is moaning above him, he feels it more than hears it, his breathing tickling the back of his neck.

When he's all the way in, Tom stops for a moment to breathe. Mike has let go of his dick, has to focus on getting air into his lungs, to maintain consciousness, really. 

Two or three deep thrusts, and he has Mike flush against the floor, hands scrambling for any sort of purchase, shirt buttons rubbing against the carpet and threatening to fall off. The breath on his neck melts into wet kisses, with Tom whispering intelligible things into the skin. 

His voice barely a whisper, Tom laughs, and with a last " _fuck_ ", pushes himself intimately close along Mike's body. If he had space to move, Mike would have flinched at the feeling, of the wetness and heat in his guts. 

Barely before Mike has gathered himself, Tom starts to pull out.

"Shit, stop!" Mike urges, and Tom hesitates. "Don't fucking, I mean, my suit, don't mess it up." Tom laughs freely from above him.

"And how the fuck can I avoid that?" Mike closes his eyes against the floor, dick still out and hard, pushed tight under his body. "It was inevitable, Mikey," Tom sing-songs, and he starts to move again. 

He tries at least, Mike will give him that. Pushes Mike's underwear and pants out of the way, but the sound it makes when Tom pulls out inflicts no confidence. He can hear Tom shuffle around, the clink of his belt buckle. Soft feet move over the carpet and come back with a napkin from the dining table. 

"You don't need to," Mike says, reaching behind him to grab the napkin, but Tom pulls it out of his reach. Without responding, he starts wiping Mike down, gentle at first, but when he notices Mike squirming, he moves more deliberately. 

"I think that's as good as it's gonna get, man," Tom says after a while, and Mike nods into the carpet. He has very little faith in his capability of getting back to work in this state. 

A phone rings, and this time it's Tom's. 

"I gotta take this, sorry," but Mike waves him off without lifting his head. 

"No worries, cool, thanks," he mutters into the fabric, and he hears Tom chuckle. 

"Cool," Tom smiles, and slips out the door. 

He manages to wrap the leftover blunt into the napkin and buries them both deep in the trash can in the bathroom. He takes another twenty minutes washing his face, and his ass, trying to convince his own reflection that he's still not high, but in fact, capable of- whatever it is he needs to do. Walking. Talking. People things. 

Whenever he's calmed himself down, he feels a flush creep up his neck and his temple, and soon he's sweating again, and he can't seem to get his legs to stop shaking. 

Eventually, he makes himself leave the bathroom, focusing on staying upright and not to let the slight limp in his step to shine through. Louis is on him moments after, with a wide grin and a red flush on his face.

"Did you try the sauna? Does wonders for the circulation," he preaches, and Mike smiles diligently and shakes his head. "So, did you land him, pony?" He punctuates the question with a hard hand on Mike's shoulder, a firm shake.

"I, um, yeah, I'd say so."

"Brilliant. Let's get back to the office."


End file.
